


Black

by DangerouslyHappy



Category: Bonanza
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerouslyHappy/pseuds/DangerouslyHappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the three Cartwright sons get attacked by Indians the question is who will live and who will die. Adam's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black

**Author's Note:**

> This story is posted on FF.net under my other pen name of Lobo C. Martin.

Black the color of my clothes,  
Black the color of my soul,  
Black the color of grief,  
Black the color I know makes you think of desperadoes.

But I’m not that no,  
I’m not on the run from the law,  
Nor am I a cold-hearted killer,  
Who wears it so you know,  
Know that he’s one man you don’t want to cross.

I wear it as I grieve,  
Grieve for those that I’ve lost over the years,  
For the mother I never knew,  
For the mother I knew for so short a time,  
For the mother that brought my father joy for such a brief glimpse in time.

For the best friend that I couldn’t help,  
For the many women who have died,  
And for those women that have left without a backward glance,  
For the men that died trying to defend their home,  
For all this senseless destruction that man must do.

For the miners buried below the mountains,  
For the wild horses that we break,  
For the bad men that don’t know how they went bad,  
For the cowboy’s that will never ride again,  
For the beast’s we shoot for food.

And now there may be something new on my list,  
I could be mourning for my brother’s,  
I don’t know if they’re alive or dead,  
After the first attack I lost track of their positions,  
They could be lying in the rocks that surround us taking their last breath.

The Indians could have taken them to torture them,  
They could have broken their necks when they dove off their horses,  
Wait I see a glimpse of Hoss’ vest off to my right,  
“Adam?” It’s Hoss’ voice “Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine Hoss. How are you?”

“I’m fine Adam,”  
“Have you heard from Joe?” I ask,  
I hear a sigh “No I haven’t,” He says and I close my eyes,  
I may be mourning for a brother after all,  
I suddenly hear an Indian whoop and I glance over to where Hoss is.

I see him move to look at me,  
I look into his eyes and I can see the tears,  
I see him look away from me and the tears start to come down,  
I don’t want to look, to see why,  
But I do and my own tears start to flow.

How am I going to tell Pa? I wonder to myself,  
How am I going to tell him Joe is dead?  
I can’t tear my eyes away from the grisly scene in front of me,  
That’s my little brother’s body out there,  
With an arrow sticking out of his chest his throat slit and blood pouring out.

I’m surprised when the Indians start to come out,  
“White men,” I hear the chief cry out,  
“The blood debt has been paid a life for a life,”  
I choke back a sob and I see Hoss doing the same,  
“You may take his body and go in peace.”

When he finished his speech he motioned to his warriors and walked away,  
When he and his men were out of sight me and Hoss got up,  
We both had one thought in mind “Is he really dead?”  
Not our younger brother not the life of this family,  
But as we approach we can see it’s true Joe is dead.

So now I have another reason to wear black,  
Another reason to grieve and to cry,  
Another reason to wish that I was out of this awful land called the west,  
But also another reason to stay and support my father,  
How long will all this hatred last? 

As they lower his casket into the cold, dark ground I wonder,  
Will another son of a Cartwright die because of this?  
I ask myself this but I don’t have any answer,  
My father falls to his knees and begins to weep,  
My other brother has tears running down his face unchecked.

I just stand here like a statue,  
I can’t do anything it’s as if the life flowed out of me,  
When that first shovel of dirt fell on the casket I could do nothing but stare,  
Stare at the wooden box that now holds my brother,  
As I stare at that box it suddenly hit’s me Joe’s not coming back.

He’s gone to be with those that have gone before,  
He’s gone to see his mother,  
He’s gone to meet Inger,  
He’s gone to meet my mother,  
He’s gone just like Ross and the women.

Maybe someday we’ll see him again,  
Standing at the gates of heaven,  
With his arm around his mother’s shoulder’s,  
With Julia’s arm’s around him,  
He’ll welcome us with that grin of his and say, “Good to see you again.”

Black the color of my clothes,  
Black the color of my soul,  
Black the color of grief,  
Black the color I will wear ‘til my dying day to remember.

To remember his cocky grin,  
His eyes twinkling with mischief,  
The way he mounted his horse,  
The many times he got on my nerves,  
And above all I’ll remember that he loved us all.


End file.
